Sleeping with the Enemy
by Vivian Kain
Summary: One of my stories that was removed when NC-17 went under...SLASH! Ron/Draco...it's a pairing I haven't seen done very often, let me know what you think, I'll continue it eventually.


I'd like to start out by saying that I'm really nervous about posting this fic. The success of my dear friend and partner in crime Marilyn Stabs has finally persuaded me to once again put my heart on the line by posting a story, and I hope everybody really enjoys it. I'm a slave to reviews so let me know what you think, and don't be shy. Also, I suck at paragraphs and I know it, I just kind of make them whenever I feel like it, so be patient with me. That's what editors are for, and I don't have one! lol. Enjoy. "The World is Quiet Here."  
~ViV~  
  
Ron didn't know when he'd been less comfortable. He tried to shift as Hermione pulled off her thick sweater and loomed over him. She'd straddled him, and he felt as though all this pressure on his pelvis would definitely not be good for his performance.   
  
She leaned still closer, pressing her lips heavily against his, flicking her tongue into his mouth. He pulled away, still squirming. She looked at him in alarm, and his face quickly twitched into what he hoped was a look of desperate desire. She seemed satisfied and moved to unbutton his polo. At the same time, Ron was silently coaching his partner in crime.   
  
"Okay, come on little guy," he urged as Hermione struggled to get his shirt off. "You can do it. Up and at 'em baby! Come on, you know you want this!" The bulge in his khakis seemed less than willing to oblige. But maybe that was because of the brown haired girl who was sitting on it.   
  
"Hermione," he moaned out loud, hoping she would at least get off of him for a moment. On the contrary, Hermione took his groan of pain to be one of ecstasy, and she eagerly began to rip at his wifebeater, trying to get at his flesh.   
  
"Hermione," he said again. "This isn't working." She looked at him in surprise, and he responded by rolling over, tipping her gently onto the floor of the broom closet.   
  
"Ron, what's going on with you?" Hermione asked him indignantly. "You're always the one pleading with me to do something dangerous and exciting. I'm trying Ron, I really am." Ron sighed.   
  
"I know you are, Herm. But a broom closet isn't exactly my idea of a romantic setting. I was thinking more along the lines of scented candles."   
  
He stood up, picking up his polo shirt and pulling it on over his ripped wifebeater. Hermione, looking a little hurt, reached down for her sweater. Ron waited until she was fully dressed and then moved to open the door.   
  
"No," Hermione warned him. She pulled out her wand and gently eased open the door about an inch. She slid the wand through and whispered something that Ron couldn't hear. "The coast is clear," Hermione told him in a whisper. Ron smiled and opened the closet door.   
  
"You're truly brilliant, Herm," he told her admiringly. She flashed him a watery grin, and then began to walk very fast in the direction of Gryffindor tower. "Hey! Wait up!" Ron called after her, struggling to tuck his shirt back into his khakis. Hermione didn't stop. On the contrary, she walked even faster, quickly putting as much distance as possible between herself and the still form of her friend. More than friend, Ron corrected himself. She was practically running now, and Ron turned dejectedly to walk in the other direction.   
  
He'd hurt her badly, he knew that. He couldn't explain it, but he hadn't wanted her in that closet. He'd wanted more than anything to just get out of there. But why? Could it be possible that he didn't desire her anymore? He loved her, there was no doubt about that, but was she what he really wanted? He couldn't think anymore. He was afraid his head might explode if he pondered things too hard.   
  
He stopped his musings when he reached the library, pausing in front of the ornate entrance. Feeling as though there were nowhere else for him to go, he stepped inside. It was a pleasant thought that he could get lost in here for hours, and besides, it reminded him of Hermione.   
  
Normally, Ron hated books and felt they were a waste of time, but right now he would have taken any diversion. He slipped noiselessly down an aisle containing books on the numerous Goblin empires. An hour later, after wandering through the aisle with books on dragons, the section of books on the lasting effects of the Curse of the Bogies, and the magical biographies, he was bored nearly to tears.   
  
He meandered around a corner and down one last aisle. This one, at least, looked far more interesting than the others. The books on this aisle were all quite old-looking, and some of them quivered a bit, as though they were ready to leap off the shelf into a reader's arms.   
  
Happily deciding that he might not have to face Hermione for at least another few minutes, Ron began to browse the aisle. He hadn't gone two steps before he felt a painful whack on the back of his head. Stars swam in front of his face as he turned to see what had hit him. He saw only a dark red book lying open on the floor behind him. Was it his imagination, or were all the other books laughing at him? He knelt to pick up the volume and turned back to the cover. "Emotions Potions" the cover proclaimed in shining, swirling script.   
  
Ron turned back to the page that the book had been open to on the floor. This potion, the book boasted, would make the drinker eternally happy. He turned the page. A potion to make an enemy chronically sad. An anger potion. A love potion. A love potion? Ron's finger slid down the page as he read the ingredients silently to himself. Just then, a drawling voice behind him whispered, "I believe that you have found my book."   
  
Ron jumped, dropping the book as he whirled around to face the speaker. His displeasure increased when he saw who had spoken.   
  
"Your book, Malfoy?" He asked in disbelief, carving his features into a stony look. "Here. Have it, then." He gave the book a smart kick in Malfoy's direction. He lost his balance and wobbled ungainly before finally crashing into the shelf of books behind him, sending the volumes raining down on his and Malfoy's heads. As Ron had expected, Malfoy began to laugh.   
  
"Well Weasley, you're clumsy as ever I see." His cheeks tinted a furious shade of crimson, Ron pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to rectify the situation. As the books began to slide back to the shelves on their own, Ron turned to face his enemy.   
  
"Take your book and go, Malfoy." Malfoy smirked at him.   
  
"Go where? I rather like it here, Weasley. Nice and quiet. A very…PRIVATE place to hold a conversation, wouldn't you agree?" And suddenly, Malfoy was behind him. "No one to interrupt us here Weasley. We could settle some….unfinished business."   
  
Unfinished business? What on God's green earth was Malfoy blustering on about? "Oh I'll finish things, Malfoy," Ron said softly, his mouth set in a hard line. He drew his wand out of his pocket again, whirling and pointing it at Malfoy, who was now circling him. Malfoy was looking him up and down, raising his eyebrows at Ron's obvious contempt.   
  
"Now now Weasley, can't we talk about things like civilized gentlemen?" He stopped in front of Ron, his pale gray eyes meeting Ron's own. Warning bells were going off in Ron's head. What could Malfoy possibly mean? What was he playing at?   
  
Glaring at Malfoy, Ron pushed past him, sauntering down the aisle. He'd barely stuffed his wand back in his robes before he felt a sharp pain in his wrists. He heard Malfoy's gentle breathing and felt it tickling his earlobe before he realized what had happened. Malfoy's cold, pale fingers had twisted themselves around his wrists, and the blonde boy now held him prisoner. Ron struggled to get free, but Malfoy's long digits held him tightly.   
  
"Weasley…such a pretty thing you've become, too." Ron could feel Malfoy's eyes on his face, and he tried again to escape, but to no avail. Malfoy's new attitude toward was, if possible, more disquieting than the previous one, and Ron was feeling increasingly uneasy.   
  
"Let go of me," Ron said quietly, trying to keep his tone even and dignified. Malfoy didn't answer, but his gasping breath continued to whistle past Ron's ears, making him feel pleasantly squeamish. He turned his head to look at Malfoy, to see what he was doing now. He had stopped struggling, and Malfoy tentatively released his hands. When Malfoy's eyes searched his again, Ron knew that it was useless to struggle. Whatever was happening, whatever Malfoy had set in motion, it was going to take place NOW.   
  
Malfoy leaned slightly closer, closing the small distance between himself and Ron slowly. Where, Ron wondered, was Madam Pince? Surely she had heard the disturbance the falling books had caused? But all thoughts of Madam Pince were driven far from Ron's mind as Malfoy's intentions finally became clear.   
  
The pale boy was almost as tall as he was, but he still had to tip his head back slightly as he brought his lips closer to Ron's. Ron was too surprised to say or do anything, which made the experience all the more pleasant for Malfoy.   
  
Ron watched, mesmerized, as Malfoy's silky tongue slowly slid out from under his upper lip. Gently, Malfoy leaned up and slipped his glistening tongue between the folds of Ron's own lips. By instinct, Ron opened his mouth wider, allowing Malfoy free access. But Malfoy seemed not to be interested in delving any deeper. Slowly, he ran his tongue along the lines of Ron's mouth, teasing him with the light touch. Malfoy's hand had risen to his face, and it cradled his chin as Malfoy tantalized his lips with his velvety caresses.   
  
Ron gasped in surprise, his own tongue emerging and fighting to connect with Malfoy's. But Malfoy was the one in control, and he seemed to be done with their little game. He stepped back, and Ron was left to slide his tonge back into his mouth, feeling a hot flush creeping up his neck and rising into his cheeks.   
  
Ron searched Malfoy's face for signs of malice, evidence that Malfoy had simply been having him on, but he saw none. Malfoy simpy reached up one cold hand and gently smoothed back the unruly tufts of red hair lying disobediently on Ron's forehead. As quickly as he had come, Malfoy seemed to vanish among the endless shelves of books.   
  
Ron was breathing heavily now, and he blinked feverishly, feeling rather ill. The entire incident had lasted less than five minutes, but Ron felt as though he and Malfoy had been locked together among the fallen books for hours. Speaking of books…   
  
Ron swiveled around and searched the shelves until he found the book Malfoy had claimed to be his. Unsure of exactly what compelled him to do it, Ron tore out of the library, ignoring Madam Pince's scoldings. He skidded around the corner outside the library and looked wildly around, searching for a flash of silvery hair.   
  
The corridor was nearly deserted, and it didn't take him long to locate Malfoy. He was striding away in the direction of the entrance to Slytherin house. Rushing along the hallway, Ron managed to catch him before he'd gone too far. Malfoy, sensing Ron's presence, whirled around. He had swiftly slipped back into the old Malfoy persona, sneering at Ron with evident hatred.   
  
"Yes, Weasley? Be quick, I'm not sure if poverty is contagious and I certainly don't want to catch it if it is." Ron blinked, flabbergasted. Had he missed something, or was this the same boy who had so tenderly tantalized him only moments ago? Ron's throat seemed to have contracted into nothingness, so he held out the book to Malfoy mutely. Malfoy looked down at it, raising one perfect eyebrow.   
  
"What do you want me to do with this?" Ron still could not speak, but simply stared at the beautiful boy in front of him. As Malfoy's lips moved, Ron's eyes followed them, drank them in, observed the swollen look to them, as though Malfoy had just been kissed. But he hadn't been. He had been the one DOING the kissing. Ron found his words at last, and managed to make his voice sound as contemptuous as that of his archenemy.   
  
"I don't want you to do anything, Malfoy. Just take your book and leave me alone from now on." Malfoy smirked and reached out a delicate, pale hand to take the book. He turned on his heel and continued on his way, his robes swishing behind him. Ron stared after his retreating back, suddenly feeling strangely empty, as though Malfoy taking the book had wrenched out a piece of his heart. Silently, he turned and began the longest walk of his life, back to Gryffindor Tower. 


End file.
